When I smell like alcohol, just let me cry

Living where we live has certain advantages - we're close enough to the city that going downtown on a weeknight is still do-able (although my little hungover head might argue that the next morning), we have a YARD, and we live really close to a lot of our friends and all of our family. And when I say "really close to a lot of our friends," I mean that some of them live (or will soon live!) within 1.5 miles of us.

That means we all drink a lot on the weekends and can walk home if we need to.

That also means that we can have impromptu (who am I kidding? I start planning a week in advance) get-togethers during the week. Namely, Thursdays with Sarah and Dustin. Sarah and I are Grey's Anatomy (Grey's, to the hip) fans. SK and Dustin are anything BUT Grey's fans, so they send us off to the bedroom with our wine to watch our show while they do manly things in the living room like wrestle with the dogs, or watch baseball, or braid each other's hair while talking about their feelings.

Wait. Whaaat...?

The 4 of us have tried to get together each week and trade off houses and dinner duties. Last night, the party was at our house. Did anyone else besides us BAWL YOUR HEAD OFF through the scene with the elderly husband and wife?? We were sobbing. SK and Dustin could hear us from the living room and thought we were joking, we were crying so hard. It might have had something to do with the wine, too. Maybe.

I ran to the store on my way home for some last-minute stuff, and ended up being detoured to Wal Mart because the line of traffic to turn into Kroger's was 10 years long. I ran into WM, waved off the cart hander-outer, and grabbed my bag of salad, bag of shrimp, bulb of garlic, and Nilla Wafers. I headed to the check out line, but then thought, "You know what? We have no beer. What if SK and Dustin want some beer?" So I turn around, head down to Aisle 13 (why do I know this, you ask? Oh, just you wait and see...) and go to quick grab a 12-pack. Bottles and cans were the same price, so I grab for the bottles, thinking I'll be classy that way. Too bad I didn't notice that someone had already opened the side of the beer case. I pulled the case up and suddenly a beer bottle waterfall was happening right in front of my face. And right in front of my khaki pants.

11 bottles of beer shattered and spilled out at my feet. Which were in flip flops. My previously dry pants were now SOAKED from the mid-thigh down in cheap, light beer. The noise it made was spectacular and drew curious shoppers from surrounding aisles. Now, it takes a lot to embarrass me usually, but last night, standing in a slowly-widening puddle of beer, drenched from the thighs down, exposed feet completely wet, I wanted to sink into the floor. Or dunk my burning face in a bucket of ice water and pray for the moment to be over.

I didn't want to move because I was afraid of slipping and falling on my butt. Also, there were shards of broken glass all around me. Thankfully, a WM employee walked by at that moment and saw me, frozen, surrounded by enough beer to fill a kiddie pool, and came to my rescue. I thanked her for the help, she didn't demand I pay for the beer, and I hauled ass off the aisle and to the check out line, all the while hearing "Wet cleanup on aisle 13" resounding in the store around me.

As I was paying the checker just laughed, shook her head and said, "you better hope you don't get pulled over--you smell like a bar." I glared at her, swiped my card, and walked out.

Carrying a 12-pack of cans. Oh no Beer, you will not defeat me.